Denied Love

06.An Ex-Lover at the Wedding

Praenarin's Vow Ceremony wedding was held outdoors at a rented venue in the late afternoon to evening. It was a small private event, attended only by close family and friends. Her father, Wasin, took charge of all the arrangements.

Khwanrin also attended as a relative on Khemjira’s side since she didn’t

have many close family members. The only ones she had were a couple of close friends from university. On the other hand, Praenarin's close friends—

whom she had hoped would be too busy with work to attend—showed up in full force.

Now, she regretted handing out invitations because they had completely surrounded her.

“Rin, your future wife is quite a catch,”

Prowfa, Grace, Ying, and Julie—Praenarin's long-time friends—whispered to her as they peeked into the dressing room, eyeing Khemjira, who was sitting with her eyes closed while the makeup artist worked on her.

Praenarin glanced at her bride-to-be. Today, Khemjira was dressed in a

white wedding gown that accentuated her full, curvaceous figure. Even in a plain T-shirt, she was striking enough to turn heads. Praenarin swallowed hard and quickly turned away, pretending not to care.

“Oh? I think she’s just average. Nothing special,” She replied nonchalantly.

“Really? She’s this stunning, and you don’t feel anything at all?”

The four friends narrowed their eyes at her suspiciously. Praenarin's voice remained steady as she insisted,

“No, I don’t.”

“So, after the wedding, are you two going to share a room, or sleep

separately? And are you going to register the marriage or just have the ceremony? If you register, we can be your witnesses.”

“I don’t know. And no, I’m not registering.”

“What if she wants to do… 'homework'? Are you going to let her?” One of them teased, making Praenarin snap.

“Ugh! You guys are so nosy! I’m not answering anything. Just go outside and grab something to eat. I need to finish getting ready—it’s almost time!”

Seeing her frustration, her friends finally left. With a sigh of relief, Praenarin checked her outfit in the mirror. Should I feel something? Did she really need to have feelings for someone she was marrying purely for

convenience?

Outside, guests were slowly arriving. Meanwhile, Wasin, eager to check if his daughter was ready, stepped into the dressing room. Both Praenarin and her bride-to-be were now fully dressed and prepared for the ceremony.

Everything was ready—now, they just had to wait for the appointed time. “You look just like your mother,”

Wasin said with a gentle smile, running a large hand over his daughter’s head with care. He wondered if he was truly being cruel by forcing this marriage on her. In his mind, he was offering her something good, even if she didn’t want it, all because he wanted her to let go of the expired relationship she was holding onto.

In reality, Praenarin could have received the inheritance and company presidency she wanted without getting married. He could have handed it over to her right away.

But he deliberately set this condition—hoping that through marriage, his

daughter would find a good love and finally let go of the painful memories she had been carrying for so long.

More than anything, he wanted Praenarin to forget that pain and find happiness with someone who truly loved her.

“Well, I am Mom’s daughter. If she’s beautiful, of course I am too,” Praenarin replied confidently.

“I’ll go check on the guests now. Your grandmother and aunt are here today

—don’t forget to greet them,”

Wasin reminded her. Praenarin nodded before he left the room. At the same time, the makeup artists and hairstylists also stepped out for a break.

Now, only she and Khemjira remained. Remembering what her father said, Praenarin prepared to head out to see her grandmother. She wasn’t particularly close to her maternal side of the family—her grandmother had never liked her father and even cut ties with her mother over their marriage. But despite that, her grandmother still loved her deeply.

“Khem, I’m going outside,”

She informed her soon-to-be wife.

Khemjira, who had been checking her reflection in the mirror, immediately stopped what she was doing and walked straight over, grabbing Praenarin's arm.

“Wait,” Khemjira said.

“What? I’m just going to greet my grandmother.”

“We’re about to be wife and wife now. Even though I’m a woman too… I want to be your husband,”

Khemjira said with a sly smile. She was so excited that her hands had gone cold. Every night leading up to this moment, she had stared at their matching wedding dresses, imagining how beautiful Praenarin would look in hers.

But it seemed Praenarin didn’t share her enthusiasm. Her expression remained stiff, her brows slightly furrowed in irritation.

“What nonsense are you talking about? Did you forget to shake the bottle before taking your meds?”

Praenarin shot back dryly.

“Are you still making jokes like that? That really shows your age,”

Khemjira teased, but when she saw Praenarin glare at her, she quickly changed the subject.

“Can I kiss your cheek? Just once, before we officially become wives?”

Khemjira moved closer, wrapping an arm around Praenarin's waist and leaning in. Praenarin turned her face away with an annoyed grunt but didn’t push her away.

“Hm… don’t get carried away.”

“But we’re getting married, aren’t we? My wife is this beautiful—how could I not get carried away? I can’t resist,”

Khemjira teased. Praenarin rolled her eyes.

Beautiful this, beautiful that—does she think I’m so easily flattered?

“You’re annoying. Why do you even like me? There are so many women out there—why not like someone else?”

She huffed, stepping out of Khemjira’s embrace and crossing her arms. Did Khemjira think that just because they were getting married, she could do

whatever she wanted?

“Why can’t I like you? Actually, I love you,” Khemjira said without hesitation.

“It’s not that you can’t, but we’re a whole twelve years apart. What exactly are you after? My wealth?”

Khemjira didn’t answer. Instead, she gave a knowing smile and stepped closer again. Lowering her voice to a husky whisper near Praenarin's ear, she said,

“I’ll tell you tonight… why I like you.”

Praenarin swallowed hard. She pulled away, blinking rapidly, feeling an odd heat creeping over her skin. To distract herself, she busied her hands by adjusting her wedding veil, then quickly walked out ahead. Internally, she grumbled,

Annoying… Khemjira is the most annoying woman ever!

She made her feel itchy, like she had lice crawling on her head or mites biting her skin. That’s exactly what Khemjira did to her!

.

.

The wedding proceeded as planned. The two exchanged rings, made their vows, threw the bouquet, and received blessings from their elders. The final part of the event was the heartfelt speeches from both brides, followed by a celebratory dinner before everyone went home.

By this point, Praenarin's mind was barely present. The person she had

invited—the one she wanted to see—still hadn’t shown up. Even though that person had promised to come.

She scanned the crowd again and again. When she didn’t see them, she felt an unexpected wave of relief. But even as relief washed over her, she still wanted to see that familiar face.

Standing on the artificial grass, she and Khemjira faced each other as the guests watched. But Praenarin wasn’t paying attention—her eyes kept searching for just one person.

“Khun Rin, look at me,” Khemjira urged.

Praenarin glanced at her briefly—but then, at that exact moment, she arrived.

A 28-year-old woman she knew better than anyone.

The woman weaved through the guests and took a seat in the empty chair placed in the perfect spot—right where Praenarin could see her. She wore an expression of quiet sorrow, one that Praenarin couldn’t quite decipher.

Why is Phrapai looking at me like that?

“Phrapai…”

Praenarin's face paled as she murmured the name of her ex-lover—just loud enough for the woman beside her to hear.

"Are you okay?"

Everything around her seemed to blur into a deafening silence the moment she saw the face of the person she had once loved so deeply. Praenarin's body moved on its own, almost stepping forward toward her.

But just as she lost herself for that brief moment, a firm hand on her waist pulled her back.

At the same time, the emcee handed her the microphone, signaling that it was time for her to speak her vows.

"Khun Rin, don’t do that,"

Khemjira whispered, her grip firm but gentle. .

"We’re in the middle of our wedding. The guests are watching. Take a deep breath and wait until the ceremony is over."

With no other choice, Praenarin inhaled deeply, forcing herself to regain control. She averted her gaze and clenched her teeth, her voice trembling as she spoke the vows she had written down. It wasn’t a long speech—just enough to get through the moment.

As soon as she finished, the room erupted in applause. Everyone assumed she was overwhelmed with joy. But the truth couldn’t be further from that.

"And now, it’s Khem’s turn," The emcee announced.

"Do you have something you’d like to say? Maybe tell us how your love story began?"

Praenarin barely registered what was happening. Her mind was slipping again, her focus drawn back to the sorrowful gaze of her former lover.

Khemjira took the microphone and smiled at the woman beside her—the one who was staring at someone else.

It’s okay, she reassured herself.

Then, she began telling the story of how she had fallen for this woman, despite their twelve-year age gap. When she was born, Praenarin was

already in middle school. But to Khemjira, that had never been an obstacle.

.

.

"Dad, it hurts!"

Tears streamed down 18-year-old Khemjira’s face as she dodged the cane her father wielded. She had been caught sneaking off to art classes instead of attending the extra tutoring sessions he had arranged for her.

"This is my final warning," Her father declared.

"Stop wasting time on drawing and focus on your studies. You will study law—nothing else. I won’t allow you to pursue such useless things."

"But I don’t like it! I want to study architecture or something where I can design and create. I love drawing more than memorizing legal codes!"

"Have you ever thought about your future? Look at me—I’m a lawyer. I earn enough to send you to the best universities. If you study law, you’ll always have a stable job."

Khemjira wiped her tears, feeling utterly helpless. She had to choose a university soon, but if her father refused to let her follow her passion, she had no choice but to obey.

She couldn’t fight back. Not against him.

"But I don’t like it! I just want to study what I love. Is that really too much to ask? You’re so cruel, Dad! If Mom were still here, maybe I’d be happier. It’s because of you that I’m so miserable!"

"Khem!"

Just as her father raised the cane to strike her again, a voice interrupted— like an angel descending just in time.

"Uncle."

Her father immediately lowered his hand, turning to the visitor who had just entered.

"Oh, Rin. What brings you here?"

The person who had just witnessed her worst moment showed no sign of shock or concern. Instead, she offered a faint smile and responded politely.

"I came to borrow Khem for a bit. Since it's the long break, I wanted to ask if she could help me with some work in exchange for a little pocket money."

Khemjira knew her father had a soft spot for Praenarin. Maybe it was because she was the daughter of his close friend, or maybe because she carried herself so differently—responsible, mature, and successful.

Unlike his own daughter, she was someone he respected. And just like that, after all of Khemjira’s begging had failed, her father relented.

Once she escaped, Khemjira rushed to the car of the person who had saved her. They had planned this meeting beforehand—she was supposed to help sort documents at Praenarin's house. If she had arrived just a moment later, Khemjira’s legs would have been covered in bruises.

.

Thinking about it made her tear up again, overwhelmed with frustration. But as soon as a handkerchief was offered to her, she stopped crying—like someone had pulled a switch.

"Dry your face already. And stop being so weak," Praenarin said flatly.

"No matter how strong you are inside, if you keep crying, people will always see you as a loser."

"But I feel so hurt," Khemjira sniffled.

"I just want to choose my own path. Why can’t my dad give me that? I hate law. I hate memorizing rules. Why does he want me to follow in his

footsteps?"

She didn’t tell Praenarin what she actually wanted to study, and Praenarin didn’t ask. Instead, she simply offered,

"Do you want me to talk to him for you?" "You’d talk to my dad?"

Khemjira blinked at her, rubbing her eyes. She was just an 18-year-old kid who still depended on her father for everything. If she disobeyed him, he might even cut off her allowance.

"I probably can. I get why he’s worried. He’s afraid you’ll pick a major that won’t lead to a stable career. He’s not as heartless as you think."

Khemjira looked up at her, suddenly seeing Praenarin in a different light. Today, she looked even more beautiful than usual. Staring at her elegant face, Khemjira felt something stir inside her—a feeling she couldn’t quite name.

And in the end, it was because of Praenarin that she didn’t have to study law.

It was because of her that she got to follow her dreams.

And after that, her biggest dream. Was Praenarin herself.

.

.

"I love you, Khun Rin. I’ve done everything for you, and I always will. Until my very last day, I promise that every moment of my life will belong to you and you alone."

As soon as Khemjira finished her heartfelt declaration, the crowd erupted into applause. But while everyone else was touched by her words, Praenarin's tears fell for a completely different reason.

It wasn’t Khemjira’s devotion that made her cry—it was the fact that the person who should have spoken those words was Phrapai. If only Phrapai had loved her the way Khemjira did, she wouldn’t have to be standing here, crying at her own wedding, wishing she were marrying someone else.

Across the room, Khwanrin felt the same. She watched Khemjira, dressed in her wedding gown, smiling for everyone to see, and her own eyes burned with unshed tears. She smiled too, but only because she had no choice.

She had been in Khemjira’s life for years, ever since Khemjira’s father took her in as a caretaker. She had been there for every moment, every struggle

—but she had never been the person Khemjira’s love story began with.

Even though she had always seen Khemjira as more than a younger sister or her employer’s daughter, she could never show it. She could only stand by and watch, offering her silent congratulations as Khemjira found happiness with someone else.

.

Then, the emcee called for the newlyweds to seal their vows with a kiss. The crowd cheered, the photographers readied their cameras, but the bride beside her stood frozen. Khemjira knew she had to do something, or the guests would start to notice something was wrong.

"Khun Rin, may I?"

Khemjira whispered, stepping closer.

She cupped Praenarin's face gently and tilted it up, pressing a soft kiss to her lips—just enough for a perfect photograph.

As their lips touched, Praenarin's tears fell again. But they weren’t for Khemjira. In that moment, all she could think about was the past. About Phrapai.

She knew it wasn’t fair. She knew she was hurting Khemjira by standing there, kissing her, while her heart belonged to someone else. On the

happiest day of Khemjira’s life, Praenarin could not give her what she truly deserved.

The guests rose to their feet, applauding as the cameras flashed. They stood like that for who knew how many seconds, trapped in a moment that meant different things to each of them.

Finally, Khemjira pulled away, her fingers gently wiping away Praenarin's tears. Her hand, now steadier, found Praenarin's and held it tightly. Then, without hesitation, she pulled her into an embrace.

To the outside world, it was a beautiful moment—a picture-perfect ending to a wedding ceremony.

But between the two of them, they both knew what it really was. "Hold my hand, Khun Rin,"

Khemjira whispered.

"I’ll get you through this."

.

.

The wedding was over. The guests were leaving.

Khemjira and Praenarin, as newlyweds, were also preparing to leave.

As Praenarin spotted Khwanrin and her father already seated in the large Alphard, waiting for them, she quickened her pace.

She just wanted to get home, take off this dress, and wash the day away. "But…"

Praenarin hesitated, staring at Khemjira, who was standing there with unwavering determination.

Even though this marriage had started as a mere contract, Khemjira refused to see it that way. To her, it was real.

Praenarin let out a small sigh and turned away, pretending to busy herself with unpacking a few things.

"Fine. Do whatever you want."

Khemjira smiled, pleased with the response. She could tell that despite Praenarin's reluctance, she wasn’t truly rejecting her.

.

.

As she settled into the room, Khemjira took in her new surroundings—her wife’s room. It was neat, almost too neat, with not a single item out of place.

There was no trace of wedding night decorations, no candles or flowers, nothing that hinted at romance. But that didn’t bother her. What mattered was that she was here, in this space, with the person she wanted to be with.

She walked over and leaned in slightly, teasing,

"So… do I sleep on the bed with you, or should I take the floor?"

Praenarin glanced at her briefly, looking like she wanted to protest, but in the end, she just sighed.

"Just don’t take up too much space." Khemjira grinned.

"Of course, my dear wife."

Praenarin turned away quickly, but Khemjira still caught the hint of pink on her ears.

She chuckled to herself.

This was going to be an interesting two years.

.

.

After taking her shower and changing into comfortable clothes, Khemjira returned to the master bedroom. She found Praenarin already lying on the bed, scrolling through her phone with a blank expression.

Khemjira didn’t say anything at first. She simply climbed onto the other

side of the bed and made herself comfortable. The silence stretched between them until Praenarin finally spoke without looking away from her screen.

"You're taking this marriage too seriously," she muttered. Khemjira turned her head to look at her.

"And you're not taking it seriously enough."

Praenarin sighed, placing her phone face down on her chest.

"It's just two years. After that, we’ll go our separate ways. I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise."

Khemjira propped herself up on her elbow, studying the woman beside her. "But I do," she said softly.

"Because I meant what I said today. My feelings for you aren’t fake, and they never have been."

Praenarin tensed but didn't respond immediately. She turned onto her side, facing away from Khemjira.

"Get some sleep," she said instead.

Khemjira watched her for a moment before lying back down.

"Goodnight, my dear wife,"

She teased, knowing it would get a reaction. "Don't push your luck, Khem,"

Praenarin warned, her voice muffled against the pillow. Khemjira just smiled to herself.

Two years was a long time.

And she had no intention of letting this marriage remain just a contract.

.